Heir of the Hero
by Laume
Summary: Written for the third floor contest. The war long over, peace reigns. But then a new prophecy is made. Who will be the hero this time?
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Written for the 'post-hogwarts' contest at the Third Floor Corridor. Contest rules: write a story post hogwarts. Anything goes, as long as it does not take place while the main characters are in school there.**

Sibyl Trelawny was not a woman to be taken seriously. This was a truth many of her students discovered halfway through their first Divinations lesson.

So when Sibyl Trelawny predicted her own death, thirty years after the defeat of Voldemort, it is quite understandable no one took much notice.

No one, but Harry Potter, the former child of prophecy. Having had his early life dictated by one, he was not inclined to disregard a real prophecy. And he knew a real one when he heard it.

And so it was, as Sibyl lay dying from a disease that had, ironically, taken her vision, she never saw who was with her. She wasted no time on fake predictions of Harry's death. She merely clung to the hand that unexpectedly held hers, grateful for the support.

"L'histoire se repête," she whispered. Harry briefly wondered why she spoke in French, until he remembered the parttime Seer had grown up there, and went to Beauxbatons.

Once more her voice went hoarse, and Harry shivered – not again!

"_Another danger, another power, heir of the childless hero. Suffering under the same hands, grown up in misery as the one before him, once more a child with the power to vanquish shall emerge."_

Harry paled as her hand went limp, and dropped to the sheet.

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After arranging the funeral – the former professor had no relatives left to do so – Harry, now 50 years old, returned to Hogwarts, his home.

"How was she?" A bushy haired witch, strands of silvery hair running through the still wild curls, assaulted him with questions as he sat down in the Great Hall for dinner.

"Hermione? What are you doing here?"

The witch frowned. "Arthur and John, of course. This time I've confiscated their Map for good. I threatened to burn it if they dare to nick it back during the holidays. As long as I was here anyway, I figured I might as well stay for dinner and have a chat with you. I was told you went to visit Trelawny. Do you really believe her 'prophecy', Harry? I mean, she constantly predicts death and destruction…"

"Well, this time she was right," Harry interrupted, "she's dead."

Hermione paled. "I'm sorry. Were you there when…"

"Yes. I've arranged for the funeral. It would be nice if you could find some other old students and staff perhaps, to attend. She was a Hogwarts professor, after all."

Hermione nodded, and they changed to lighter topics throughout dinner.

Later that night, Harry went up to the tower and entered his office. The many paintings of former Headmasters looked up when he came in. The most prominent was Albus Dumbledore's.

"Hello, my boy," it greeted warmly.

"Hello Albus. Honestly, I'll be fifty in a couple of weeks, no longer a boy."

"Irrelevant," the painting's eyes twinkled, "I still call Severus that, too. Not that he likes it…"

Harry smirked. Then he sobered and looked earnestly at the painting. "I need your advice, Albus. Sibyl Trelawny died today, but just before she passed away she made one last real prophecy…one that suggests another threat like Voldemort, and another Chosen One like me."

"Let's hear it, child," Dumbledore enthused, "and remember what I told you about prophesies in your sixth year; they are never fixed. If both parties choose to ignore them, they will never come true."

Harry slowly and clearly repeated the words Trelawny had spoken, and the portraits face fell.

"Can't we ever get some peace?" the painted Dumbledore muttered before popping a lemon drop into his mouth and sitting up straight.

"Well, my boy, it seems like there'll be a repeat of you and Voldemort, though it is unclear what the danger is. Your heir…well. That could be anyone, but 'suffering under the same hands' suggests someone you know. Perhaps your relatives."

"Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon are long gone," Harry said dismissively, "So is Dudley. Aunt Marge is not related to me…wait a second."

"What, Harry?"

Harry looked up, clearly trying to recall something.

"When Dudley was about nineteen, he got a girl really drunk…and himself too…and had a one night stand with her. Was quite awkward, really, especially when it turned out she was pregnant and Dudley accused her of sleeping around, so he wouldn't have to take responsibility. I think Petunia and Vernon paid off the girl and took in the resulting child."

"What happened to said child?" Dumbledore asked, a worried frown on his face.

"Don't know," Harry shrugged, "I was glad enough to be rid of them. The only reason I know about Dudley's kid is because it was about to be born when I removed the Dursleys to a safer location. I don't even know if it's a boy or a girl. At any rate, that kid should be about thirty years old now as well. I doubt it's magic, the Dursleys would never have stood for it."

"I still think you should check it out," Dumbledore advised, "check the book. If your cousin did produce magical offspring, the name should be in there."

"I don't even know if the kid had Dudley's last name!" Harry protested.

"Oh, alright," he conceded, seeing the portraits twinkling eyes, "I'll ask Severus to check."

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"Severus?"

Harry knocked on the slightly ajar door of his Deputy's office.

"Yes?" came the curt voice of the lead Potions Master.

"I have a problem. I need your opinion on the matter."

Harry quickly outlined the events surrounding Trelawny's death and the prophecy she made. The still mostly darkhaired man – though silver was beginning to appear at his temples – listened, a frown appearing on his face.

"And you believe this is a real prophecy she made?" he inquired.

"Well, I do agree that four correct prophesies in her entire life isn't that much, but she was accurate on some occasions. I've heard her make a real one before, and this was the real thing."

"Very well," Snape opened a large tome that sat in a corner of his office, and started leafing through it.

"If it is true, as Albus suggests, that this child is actually related to you…let me see. He would have turned eleven at around your 30th birthday, correct?"

He searched the pages. "No, there is no one…the Muggleborns in those years weren't related to you."

He went back to the last page and his eyes opened in shock. "I don't believe this," he muttered, tapping his wand to a name on the list.

"What?" Harry asked, moving over to stand next to him, peering over his shoulder.

He gasped. There near the top of the list, there was a name that immediately stood out.

Timothy Dursley.

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Severus Snape forced the Headmaster to sit down and handed him a cup of tea. He himself checked the book yet again.

At seventy years old, the former spy was still at Hogwarts – again at Hogwarts – when Harry had asked him to become his Deputy twenty-five years ago. Old grievances had been laid to rest and they worked as a team. The school thrived.

The prophesy shocked Snape. Having lived in the thick of war for half his life, he dreaded the rise of yet another dark lord. He had always considered Trelawny a fraud, but could not deny the few real prophecies she made.

And there it was. Timothy Dursley.

Harry looked up. "There's no chance this is another Dursley? One not related?"

The dark man shrugged. "Perhaps, but it is too much of a coincidence, even for you, Potter."

Harry smiled. The once insulting tone had mellowed to goodnatured bickering over the years.

"Wasn't one dark lord in my lifetime enough?" he complained, "just my luck. First I'm the Chosen One, and now I have to turn into Albus and train the next Chosen One."

As always, the Potions Master stiffened slightly at the mention of the former Headmaster.

"I propose visiting this child. If this prophesy is accurate, he will not be treated well. Relocation might be in order."

Harry shuddered, the demons from his loveless childhood not entirely forgotten.

"I concur. Will you accompany me? I tend to lose my grip on rational thought when confronted with something partaining to the Dursleys…" Imitating Snape's style of speech had become a private joke, and something Harry tended to do when he was nervous.

He glared at the book, fate, and the memory of Trelawny, for saddling him with yet another problem of this sort.

"Let's go find this Timothy Dursley, then," he groused.


	2. Chapter 2

Tim sighed, and ran his hand through his messy black hair. Deep blue eyes watched enviously as his younger siblings eagerly ate their breakfast, talking happily about the outing they would all take.

All but Tim.

A freak, his greatgrandparents had called him, he recalled. A throwback. Once he learned to read, he looked that up on the internet and discovered he didn't understand why they would call him that. Throwbacks occured in animals of different species that had kids, the site had explained – he had only been seven at the time, and was reading a site for children – and the children of those children would sometimes not look like a cross between species, like their parents, but would resemble one ancestor. But his grandparents weren't crossbreeds, were they? Or perhaps his father's unknown mother? He assumed he must resemble her, and his father and grandparents hated him for it.

Day after day, his father lamented having born such an unnatural son. His mother wasn't as outright cruel as his father and greatgrandparents had been, but she obviously didn't care much. He was different. The other children had looks and personalities that his mother found easier to recognize. Her eldest was a stranger to her, with his love for books, his quiet personality, and the strange accidents that kept happening around him.

Everything had been fine until he was four. Then he had somehow managed to get the cookie he wanted to float from the jar in the cupboard, to the floor where he was sitting. His mother had been terrified. His father had hit him.

After doing his chores, Tim retreated to his room, a drafty space in the attic where he kept his few treasures: some books, his report cards that his parents never wished to see, and a strange picture that moved. It showed two people and a young boy, perhaps a year old. They smiled and waved. The man had black hair just like him, and they obviously loved the boy very much. Tim kept it, not only because it MOVED, but because he could nearly imagine that he was the boy, and that his parents loved him.

The long hours he was forced to spend in his room he had practiced. While he could not control the strange force when he was angry or upset, he was able to use it a little. He winced as he touched his left eye that was swollen shut. He had another 'accident' when trying to catch a glass of milk that his youngest sister nearly dropped. He had managed to catch it, alright. By freezing it in mid-air.

To say his father had not been pleased was an understatement. He had ranted for what seemed like hours, slapped and finally punched his son.

Tim looked at the broken mirror. There was no way he could cover up this bruise. He'd have to stay inside for at least a week.

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Two figures appeared at the end of the street, one carrying a cloth of a strange silvery material over his arm.

"Are you sure you want to do it this way?" the eldest of the two gentlemen asked.

"Yes. If they treat him like Petunia and Vernon treated me, they won't willingly admit that he even lives there. He might be locked in anywhere. You need to search for him while I talk to the parents."

"Perhaps you are mistaken, and the boy is not mistreated at all."

Harry glared. "His father was raised by Vernon and Petunia. Believe me, if he shows signs of magic, which he must since he is on the list, he will be mistreated. But I don't expect you to believe it, you never believed I was anything but pampered and spoiled either, and Albus didn't care," he finished with a touch of anger and bitterness in his voice.

He regretted it immediately when he felt the other man wince.

"Sorry, Severus. Visiting Dursleys makes me…"

"Irrational and irritable," the other man finished his sentence, "it's alright, Harry. We…I did make rather large mistakes back then. You are correct, we should try to avoid that this time."

The dark man threw the cloak around his shoulders and disappeared from view.

Taking a deep breath, Harry walked up to the door and rang the doorbell.

A man opened. Harry took a few seconds to study him. Yes, this was unmistakably Dudley's son. Although not obese like his father had been, the man was bulky and muscular. His face was a mirror image of Dudley's.

"Yes? Can I help you?" the man asked.

"I certainly hope so," Harry said, "Do I have the pleasure of addressing Martin Dursley?"

"You do," Martin responded. He felt a bit uneasy. The man before him was older than he was, about the age his father would have been now. He stood at least six inches shorter than Martin himself, but the power he radiated made him seem much taller than he was.

"Won't you come in?" he finally offered, remembering the manners his grandmother had drilled into him so long ago.

"Thank you."

As the man stepped by him, Martin felt a soft waft of air in his wake, as if someone else walked by, but he saw nothing.

"Gilian, dear, we have a guest. Would you bring in some tea, please?"

Soon, Harry was seated with a cup of tea in his hands, studying the pictures on the wall. Four children, he noticed. Busy people.

"I wished to speak to you about your son, Timothy," he opened the conversation at last.

He saw the flash of anger in the man's eyes, and the uneasiness in the woman's.

"So, what has he done now?" the man growled.

Harry felt his anger flare, but the Occlumency he had mastered and perfected so long ago enabled him to remain calm. "Think Slytherin," he said to himself.

"I'm not accusing him of anything, Mr. Dursley," Harry said smoothly, "I merely wish to speak with him for a moment."

From the corner of his eye, he saw Snape sneak back in under the invisibility cloak. A short nod from the Potions Master was all he needed to know he had been correct in his assumptions.

"Would you mind calling Timothy down here, Mr. Dursley? I assure you I am not about to arrest him."

"Wouldn't be surprised if you were," he heard the man mutter as he went into the hall and yelled up the stairs.

"BOY! Get down here right now! There's someone wanting to speak to you."

Soft footsteps came down the stairs.

"What have you done now, boy?" the two wizards heard Martin Dursley hiss at his son, "If you did something unnatural again…"

"No, no father, I haven't, honest," a soft, young voice answered with a rather large amount of fear in it.

A moment later, a black-haired boy was shoved into the room. From the corner of his eye, Harry saw Snape roll his eyes. He smirked inwardly, knowing exactly why. The messy black hair looked awfully familiar.

The boy was looking down at his feet, so he couldn't see the color of his eyes.

"So, you are Timothy Dursley," he said, a little more stiff and formal than necessary, "Pleasure to meet you, young man."

Finally, the boy looked up. Harry gasped. No, the boy didn't have green eyes, like Harry nearly expected. But that wasn't the shock. The fact that he could only see one eye, the other purple and swollen shut, that horrified him. He cast a quick glance at Martin Dursley's knuckles, and saw what he expected to see.

"I…I fell, sir," the boy stuttered.

"You did not," Harry said with a piercing look, "but I'm not going to argue with you. Let me introduce myself. I am Professor Potter, Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, and here to invite you to start at my school on september first."

Stunned silence reigned for a nearly half a minute afterwards. Then Martin Dursley roared.

"YOU! YOU FREAK! ABUSING OUR HOSPITALITY TO TRY AND TURN MY SON INTO SOMETHING UNNATURAL! HE IS NOT GOING! HE'LL STAY HERE AND BECOME A NORMAL PERSON! WE'LL BEAT THE MAGIC OUT OF HIM!"

Harry raised his chin.

"Mr. Dursley, I know what your grandparents have told you. But let me assure you, neither your son nor myself are 'freaks' of any kind. And you could not beat the magic out of him. Magic is part of him. Telling him not to be a wizard is like telling him not to breathe."

"Although clearly," he took the child's chin and studied his eye, as well as some nearly healed bruises on his neck and temple, "you have tried. You do know that child abuse is illegal, don't you, Mr. Dursley?"

Timothy stared up at the strange man. He glanced at his pale, and clearly enraged parents. Professor Potter…he heard that name before.

"Harry James Potter," he suddenly whispered.

The man's head immediately whipped around. "How do you know?" he demanded.

Swallowing, Timothy took the picture that he had quickly stowed into his pocket when his father called him, and showed it to the man.

"I…found this once," he whispered, "beneath a loose floorboard in Grandmother Petunia's house. The names are on the back."

Harry let go of the boy's chin as he stared at a picture he thought he had lost decades ago, the night he had to flee from his uncle's house. The picture of his parents and himself.

"Yes," he finally said, looking at Martin and Gilian Dursley, "I am Harry James Potter. I was raised by your greatgrandparents after my parents died."

"The other freak." Timothy clasped his hands over his mouth in shock. He hadn't meant to say that! But the man smiled sadly at him.

"We are not freaks. It is they who are the freaks. Only a freak would abuse a child for something it can not help. Severus, would you call Ron, please?"

Ron Weasley had, after a short Quidditch career, joined the Auror force. The Dursleys, of course, did not know this little fact. They did, however, notice someone suddenly appear out of thin air in their living room.

And within minutes, another freak entered with a plopping sound.

"These, Ron, are Martin and Gilian Dursley," Harry motioned to the two, "Martin is Dudley's son. This here, is Timothy, who has an invitation to start at Hogwarts in the fall. If you would look at his eye, and Mr Dursleys knuckles, I think you will understand why I called you here."

Ron Weasley had out his wand within a matter of seconds.

"If there's one thing I can't stand," he growled, "it is this."

"Ron is an Auror, a Wizard police man, detective, and CIA all rolled into one," Harry sat down and took a sip of tea, apparently relaxed and in control. Inwardly, he thanked the time he had spent imitating Dumbledore's infuriatingly calm behavior.

"He could have you arrested, and thrown into Azkaban. I don't know if your father ever mentioned an encounter with Dementors when he was young…?"

Clearly, Dudley had. Or Petunia had. At least, Martin nearly fainted.

"My father died when I was seven," he protested, "my grandparents are dead too. You can't…can't take revenge on me."

"Oh, I am not thinking of revenge for what your father and grandparents did to me, Martin," Harry's eyes flashed dangerously, "But I am most displeased with how you treat your own son. I was only an unwanted nephew, but your own son? No matter, though."

He stood up and took Timothy's shoulder. "If you wish to avoid Azkaban, you will sign over guardianship of Timothy to me immediately. Whether or not he wished to come to Hogwarts, I will not allow him to be mistreated."

The haste with which the man dove unto the papers to sign them saddened Harry, and he saw Timothy wipe away a tear. He squeezed the boy's shoulder gently in an attempt to comfort.

"Good riddance," the man sneered, "let the boy go where he belongs, with the other freaks. Don't any of you there to darken my threshold again, and that goes for you too, boy!"

"Martin!" Gilian gasped, casting a fearful glance at her son and the three grown wizards next to him.

"We have four normal children, Gilian. I won't listen to another word about it." He stormed out, to the garage. Soon they heard a car drive away.

"We'll be going now," Harry said softly, "Timothy, Professor Snape will help you gather your belongings. I wish to speak to your mother for a moment."

When the two had left, and Ron returned to the Auror office, Harry turned to the shocked woman.

"You brought this upon yourself, by allowing your husband to maintain his prejudices, even against your own son," he said, knowing he sounded harsh.

"But you must know this: your son needs training and guidance. One day, perhaps, he will be called to do great and dangerous things. Do not let your husband stop you from knowing and loving the boy. This," he handed her a card, "is where non-magical people can send mail. It is a regular post box. From there, it is brought to Hogwarts or any magical family. Be sure to write to him."

The woman looked close to tears. "But he scares me so much, ever since he was four, with those odds things happening…"

"His magic scares you," Harry corrected, "the boy himself is your son. Your firstborn. You must have loved him when you first held him. When he has been trained to keep his magic under control, you will get used to it."

He heard Snape and the boy return from upstairs.

"Think about it, and use that address," he said, "goodbye, Mrs Dursley."

With that, the two wizards took hold of the boy's arm, and they Apparated away.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: I got many comments on Timothy's haircolor. You'll all just have to wait and see. But it wasn't a mistake.**

Tim's lip quivered.

Even after all the times his father had beaten him, every time he told him he was a freak, it hurt to see him sign the forms so eagerly. The forms that cast Timothy out of his life. Away with the freak.

He didn't look at his mother. Experience had taught him not to expect anything from her. Headmaster Potter looked grim, as did the dark man who had simply appeared in the corner.

When the Headmaster sent him upstairs with the dark man, he felt a bit insecure. In his room, he quickly started to get his few posessions together. The man handed him a bag.

"We have not been properly introduced yet," he intoned in a silky baritone, "I am Deputy Headmaster Severus Snape. I am the senior Potions Master at Hogwarts. Should that subject interest you and should you prove yourself capable, I will teach you in your sixth and seventh years."

"Yes, sir," Tim swallowed, "I am Timothy Dursley, but I expect you know that already…I mean…if you came to get me."

"Indeed I did. Put the things in the bag and I will shrink it. This must be quite confusing to you. I'm perhaps not the most suitable person, but if you have questions, you may feel free to ask."

"I…I have so many questions I'm not sure where to begin," Tim admitted, "I don't quite understand. How can there be a whole world of Wizards, a school even, if being a Wizard is unnatural, and freakish?"

"It is not," the dark man said vehemently, "it is not freakish. Your relatives are hopelessly misinformed, and I fear that dissuading them from their preconceived notions will be extremely difficult. Be assured, however, that you are in no way unnatural and freakish. The Wizarding world is well hidden from most Muggle – non magical people's – eyes. We will enter it shortly, and you will discover it holds many wonderful things."

Tim eyed the man closely. The man's face bespoke a not so wonderful life. Faint scars were visible on his skin. Deep lines, obviously from years of worry. Headmaster Potter, too, had a large scar on his forehead, and his face, too, showed signs of a less than easy life.

"Not everything is wonderful, though," he concluded.

The man's lips curled into what was almost an approving smile. "Very perceptive," he commented, "no, you are correct. Not everything is wonderful. While we can do things Muggles only dream of, the Wizarding world, like the Muggle world, is full of people. Magic doesn't kill people anymore than guns do; people kill people. Wars are not uniquely a Muggle favorite pastime."

"Good," Tim faced the man determinedly, "not that there is war. But I'm glad you told me. I rather know the whole truth." He felt a pang of sadness.

"But I wish my father could have pretended just a little bit…"

A hand laid itself on his shoulder and squeezed slightly before directing him to the stairs.

"I'm very sorry for you. I will not bother with common platitudes, because this is a hurt that is not soothed that easily. Headmaster Potter shall no doubt be able to help you, having been in a situation similar to yours. Now, Mr. Dursley, if you are ready…"

When they came downstairs, Tim saw his mother turn away, a card in her hand. Headmaster Potter and Professor Snape took his shoulders and Tim felt a very strange sensation.

And they weren't at his house anymore.

Instead, they stood before a small bar, apparently somewhere in London.

"The Leaky Cauldron," Headmaster Potter said, "Time to eat some lunch, Timothy, and explain a few things to you."

"Are you taking me to an orphanage?" Tim asked, a bit frightened.

He felt relieved when the Headmaster looked appalled and the grouchy looking Potions Master raised an eyebrow.

"Certainly not," he drawled, as the Headmaster seemed to be swallowing a lump in his throat, "it would be a disservice to you to first remove you from your relatives' care, without providing a reasonable alternative."

Tim cocked his head and eyed the Potions Master curiously. "You're not half as mean as you pretend to be, aren't you?"

Headmaster Potter snorted. "Hush, Tim, don't out him," he snickered.

The Potions Master very calmly and very deliberately cuffed him in the back of his head just as the waitress put down their stew. The respectable Headmaster took a nose-dive into it. Tim's eyes widened.

"This is the Wizarding World, Mr Dursley, or at least the entrance to it," Professor Snape began to explain. He stopped abruptly when both Timothy and the Headmaster winced at the name.

"This will not do, Harry. You can't flinch every time someone mentions the boy's last name."

"Just brings back memories," Tim heard the Headmaster mutter, and he remembered that this man had been raised by grandfather Vernon and grandmother Petunia. He suppressed a shudder.

"Am I….am I never to see my mother again? My brothers and sisters?"

The Headmaster shook his head. "Your mother knows how to contact you, I made sure of it. You can write her, too, from Hogwarts. For now, however, I will move you to the home of some people very dear to me. When I came to Hogwarts myself, I met my best friend Ron. You've seen him earlier. His parents were the kindest people you'll ever meet, and they sort of adopted me unofficially. There are many things about the Wizarding World you can learn from them, and Dad just adores all things Muggle, so I know he'll be trying to get you to explain computers. Their names are Molly and Arthur Weasley, and they live in the most amazing house you'll ever see."

Tim nodded. He was surprised he didn't feel more anxious or frightened. Truth be told, he didn't feel much at all. It still felt like a strange dream.

"When Hagrid came to get me from my aunt and uncle's house to go to Hogwarts, I hardly believed him," Professor Potter said softly, "the Wizarding World seemed strange, alien, wonderful and terrifying all at once. And you enter under much the same circumstances…"

"What circumstances, sir?" Timothy asked.

Troubled green eyes met his own blue ones. "I will tell you soon, Tim, but it is quite a long story, and you've had enough to deal with for today. We'll go to the Burrow first."

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A little while later they stood in front of the strangest house Tim had ever seen. They had teleported – Apparated, the adult wizards called it – to Ottery St. Catchpole, from where they had walked up to a single house in the country.

It was large. And it couldn't possibly be standing. The building had clearly been expanded numerous times, in all directions. It appeared to be the size of a small mansion, but it was rather hard to tell.

In a yard, all kinds of various items lay scattered about – boots, bits and pieces of old machinery, a kite, a very outdated computer screen.

"Dad's home," said the Headmaster happily. Professor Snape sneered a bit.

"The…evidence…in the yard certainly suggests that," he commented, carefully touching a broken transmission from a car with the tip of his boot.

Tim dragged his feet a bit. He was feeling unsure of this new environment. It was strange, though, to see someone as old and awe-inspiring as the Headmaster of Hogwarts happy to go see his parents.

A woman rushed out of the house. She was clearly older than his companions, short and slightly on the plump side, with hair that had once been completely red but was now streaked with grey.

"Harry!" She proceeded to hug the stuffing out of the Headmaster, who merely panted slightly but returned the hug enthusiastically.

"Severus, dear, it's good to see you again," the woman then said, hugging the other Professor as well, and, to Tim's surprise, without getting hexed.

"And who is this?" the woman's formidable attention was turned to him, and Tim felt himself hide behind the Potions Masters billowing robes.

"This is Timothy Dursley, Mum. He received an invitation to start at Hogwarts in September."

A pregnant pause followed, and Tim had the strange feeling that his last name, combined with the fact that he would be going to a Magic school, told the woman everything she needed to know.

"I see. Well, dears, why don't you come in? Tea's ready and I just baked a fresh pie."

"No, thank you, Molly," Professor Snape replied, "Here are the boy's things. I must return to Hogwarts."

"Oh, do you have to, Severus?" the woman seemed disappointed. "I'll save a piece of the pie for you, then, and send it along with Harry," she finally decided, "you need some decent food."

Tim watched the Potions Master. The man appeared to be very cold and strict, but as he had discovered earlier on, half of that was an act. And now, a small smile was directed at the woman.

"I'd like that. Give my regards to Arthur."

With a curt nod, the Potions Master left.

"Won't you come in, dear?" Tim was bustled into the house, sat down at a huge kitchen table and given a large mug of tea.

He watched in awe when a cutting board appeared on the table, a pie floated towards it and a knife started cutting it, all on its own.

"Have some, dear, you look very pale and thin. Harry, you as well."

"Actually, Mum, I need to talk to you and Dad for a moment. Tim, are you going to be alright in here? Just sit there and try to eat as much of the pie as you can."

"Yes, Professor," Tim replied, taking a bite of the delicious pie. His eyes widened. "This is really good!" he quickly took another bite, trying not to gobble it down.

"Thank you, dear," the woman smiled.

As they disappeared behind a door, Tim ate his pie. Fragments of the conversation floated through to the kitchen.

"…my cousin's bastard son…raised by Petunia and Vernon…"

"Poor dear…all children moved out…"

"Muggle you say?"

The voices headed back towards the kitchen. Headmaster Potter's voice could now be heard clearly.

"He can't go back to them. And I do not want him to be thrown into the Wizarding World, and especially Hogwarts, as abruptly and without guidance as I was."

The door opened, and Headmaster Potter and the woman were now accompanied by a completely bald man.

"Ah, you must be Tim," the man said, smiling brightly, "I am Arthur Weasley, and this is my wife Molly. And of course, you've met our son Harry. Headmaster Potter to you, I believe."

"Molly and Arthur will become your temporary guardians, Tim," the Professor informed him, "you will stay here. They can help you get used to the Wizarding World."

Tim nodded. "I don't think I can go to Hogwarts, sir," he whispered.

"Why not?"

"I don't have money, and father will never pay for this…"

"I'll arrange that," the Headmaster said, "I'll sort out the money for tuition and school supplies, as well as an allowance."

"But…"

"No buts, Timothy," the darkhaired man said sternly, "We are family. It is not only my wish, but my _duty_ to provide for you."

Tim suddenly found himself nearly nose to nose with the headmaster, looking into those intense green eyes.

"You are worth every single knut in my vault for the simple reason that you are who you are. You are a valuable boy, Tim, no matter what your father told you."

He shuddered. It had been so long since anyone told him he was important. He only vaguely remembered his mothers arms around him, before his first accident with magic. Not knowing how to react to kindness, he swallowed and asked the first thing that came to mind.

"Will I have to change my last name?"

The adults' eyes widened in surprise.

"Not if you don't want to. I don't think Severus will survive another Potter in school…and we're overcrowded with Weasley's already…"

Molly smiled.

"All that can wait, Tim," she said kindly, taking the boy's shoulder, "For now, you just stay here and get used to being in the Wizarding world. Come, I'll show you to your room and give you a bit of a tour of the place."

Harry sighed.

"There's more to it than just getting the child away from there, isn't there?"

Startled, having completely forgotten Arthur was still there, Harry nodded.

"Yes, Dad. It seems history is repeating itself…and I'm on Albus's side of the table this time…"

Arthur didn't quite understand his sons muttering, but patted his shoulder in sympathy before going back to his Muggle experiments.

Harry listened to the sounds of Molly preparing to mother and coddle her latest charge. Timothy was safe. Now all he had to do was explain the prophecy to the boy. The new Chosen One.

"Why couldn't Trelawny simply have lost her voice," he growled.


	4. Chapter 4

Molly Weasley studied the pale face of the boy that had been left in her care a week ago. She had encouraged him to eat as much as he liked, but he couldn't manage large meals. She had encouraged him to feel free to ask for anything he needed, but it was clear he didn't dare do that.

"Timothy?"

He looked up from his breakfast. "Yes, Aunt Molly?"

On their first day, Arthur and Molly had proposed that the boy call them 'aunt' and 'uncle'. Up to date the boy had been the perfect house-guest, albeit timid and withdrawn. The only time they had heard him laugh was when he had been helping Arthur with one of his Muggle projects. Arthur still continued his quest for knowledge on the use of rubber ducks, something Harry delighted in keeping from him.

"Headmaster Potter asked that you spend today with him. I believe he wishes to take you to Diagon Alley for your school supplies himself, and he also wants to talk to you."

Tim felt his heart skip a beat. "Why, Aunt Molly?"

He cringed. Asking a question like that would certainly have earned him at least a slap from his father, and although neither Aunt Molly nor Uncle Arthur had shown any interest in hitting him, he wasn't about to take chances with that.

Molly sighed. "It's alright to ask questions, Tim. You are the closest thing he has to blood relatives. That makes you special to him. I believe he recognizes a bit of himself in you."

"He does?" Tim asked in suprise, "I thought that as the Headmaster, he'd be far to busy to talk to me."

"Harry makes time to do fun things," Molly smiled.

Tim was perplexed. Headmaster Potter considered spending the day with him, fun? With _him_?

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Harry arrived at about ten.

"Where's Tim?" he asked Molly.

"In his room. He'll be down in a moment."

"How is he?"

Molly turned and ran her hand through Harry's hair. "It's like having you in the house all over again," she admitted, "I just can't believe parents can do this to their own child!"

"Wizarding families have been known to throw out or abuse their Squib offspring," Harry reminded her, "what's the difference?"

"You know very well I hate it when that happens as well," Molly said angrily, "a child is a child, magic or not, and should be loved, not abused."

Harry laughed and kissed her cheek. "You are absolutely right, Mum," he said, "and I do believe that you could have loved the evil out of Tom Riddle even, had you gotten him in time."

"Harry dear, I'm younger than Tom Riddle," Molly pointed out, immensely pleased none the less.

"Oh, you get my point."

Molly grinned. "Would you like some tea and cake before you go, dear? And I've been meaning to ask you…" she continued, "how come Timothy resembles you?"

"He doesn't resemble me," Harry said, "He looks like Sirius. It's the hair. You'll see, if he lets it grow, it'll be just like Siri's."

Baffled, Molly opened and closed her mouth, with no sound coming out.

"I did some research," Harry continued, ignoring his adoptive mother's fish impersonations, "and I discovered that Siri's brother Regulus fathered a child before he died. That girl was about the same age as Dudley and myself, perhaps a bit older. She was Martin's mother. The black hair, his features, he gets most of them from the Blacks."

"I never heard Regulus was married," Molly said softly.

Harry lifted his head but didn't quite meet her eyes. "Muggle baiting," he managed, barely above a whisper.

"She…she was raped?" Molly breathed.

"As was her daughter after her," Harry said coldly, "by Dudley. He got her drunk that night on purpose."

"So…Timothy's grandmother was Sirius's niece?"

"Indeed. It's a good thing Siri never knew; he would've killed Dudley."

Molly shook her head. "What a lineage that poor boy comes from," she muttered, "such a sweet child. I hope you won't tell him all this too soon, Harry."

Her darkhaired son sighed. "When is too soon, Mum? Albus made that same mistake, waiting too long because he feared it was too soon. And now I'm in his shoes. I'll tell him what I found out, but I'll leave out those details until he is older."

"I guess," Molly sighed, "but just like with you back then, I'd so much want for him to be a child. I'll go fetch him."

She found Tim in the upstairs drawing room, staring at family pictures. She slowly stood next to him.

"They're our family," she said, "Here's Ron, you've seen him briefly last week. That is his wife. Over there is Bill and his wife Fleur. They have two very beautiful children and five grandchildren."

She pointed at the pictures.

"Who is this?" Tim asked, carefully picking up an old photograph of a young girl, "she is very pretty."

Molly smiled sadly. "She is, isn't she? That is our daughter Ginny. She died when she was eighteen. It devastated us, but it completely destroyed Harry for a while."

She kissed her index finger and pressed it to the glass.

"Why did it hurt Professor Potter so much?" Tim softly asked.

"They were engaged," Molly replied, smiling a bit as she remembered the happy young couple, "and then she was killed. Purposely, to make his life miserable. I like to think," she nodded firmly, "that she is somewhere, now, pranking her brother Percy – our third son, who died a year after she did."

She shook herself. "Ah, here I am, talking about deaths that occured long before you were even born. Come, Headmaster Potter is waiting for you."

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Harry introduced Timothy to Diagon Alley, and discovered that the boy liked to ride the Gringotts carts as much as he did. So much, in fact, that he begged the goblin on the way back to make just a little detour.

Griphook, now one of the managers of Gringotts, and always the one to assist Harry, grinned.

"Would you like a really steep dive?" he asked, pointed teeth glistening in the semi dark.

After a wild ride, they were back up with very messy hair and a big smile on their faces.

"That was fun!"

Harry and Griphook exchanged an amused glance.

After making sure Tim's tuition would be paid to the Hogwarts vault annually, Harry got some cash, and they bought Tim's school supplies.

"Can I get a few extra books?" Tim asked shyly, expecting the professor to get angry.

"Of course. Wait, let's sort out your allowance straight away."

Harry handed him some money.

"I'll pay for your school things. This is money for the holidays. You can buy books or some other things you like. When term begins, I will give you spending money for when you're at school."

Tim thanked him, and quickly returned to the counter with Hogwarts: A History and some potions books.

"Looks like Professor Snape influenced you already," the Headmaster grinned.

"And would that be a bad thing, Professor Potter?" they heard a silky voice behind them.

"Merlin Severus! Don't sneak up on me like that!" Harry clutched his chest in mock-fright, "to make it up to me, YOU can take Tim here to the apothecary for his potions kit!"

Tim watched as the professor raised one eyebrow. He loved that move. It looked cool. He'd have to practice on it.

"Very well," the man drawled, "at least I can make sure he gets quality supplies. Come, Timothy. I'll show you what Potions are REALLY like."

Robes billowing, and Tim breaking into a run to keep up, they left, leaving a puzzled Harry to pay for the books.

"Drat. Greasy git tricked me into paying for the extra books too," Harry grumbled, but a smile tugged at the corners of his mouth.

They met up a while later at Florean's.

"Can I read my new Hogwarts book?" Tim asked, his mouth full of strawberry icecream.

"Not yet," Harry said, "there are somethings you need to know first. Things you need to hear from us."

Tim looked up in surprise. "Is that why you asked for a private booth?" he asked.

"Yes," the Headmaster replied, "Tim…when you go to Hogwarts you will hear much about the war with an evil wizard named Voldemort. A war that Molly and Arthur, and Professor Snape and I were heavily involved in."

Tim listened wide-eyed.

"The Headmaster defeated Voldemort, Timothy," Professor Snape looked paler than usual, he saw, and to his surprise, Professor Potter put a hand on the older man's arm and squeezed it support.

"That war has been over for thirty years now, but the Wizarding World still feels it's effects…the lives lost…"

"Aunt Molly told me about her son and daughter," Tim said uncomfortably.

Harry sighed. "Let me start at the beginning," he said.

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An hour later, Tim was staring at the two men with disbelief in his eyes.

"Prophesy? And…and…" he stuttered, turning to Professor Snape, "you killed…"

Severus Snape's face changed into an emotionless mask.

"You were both really, really brave," Tim said in awe.

The other two were too surprised to react. Tim continued. "Are prophesies…really real, then?"

Professor Potter considered his answer. "A very wise man once told me that prophesies only work when the people involved want it to be true. He said that if Voldemort and I both had chosen to ignore the prophesy about the two of us, we would never have been destined to fight each other. He said, a few years before that, that it is our choices, not our abilities, that shows who we truly are. And no matter what, there is usually a choice."

Tim got a very eery feeling of foreboding when the Headmaster looked at him again.

"Tim, I…I find myself on Headmaster Dumbledore's side of the table this time. There is…is a prophesy made that might apply to you. Note I said 'might'. We are still investigating it with the help of the Unspeakables. And remember what I just told you. You don't have to let it dictate your life."

Going pale, Timothy stared at the two men for long minutes.

"Then what does it say?" he finally asked.

"Tim…"

"What does it say? I don't have to know how to interpret it. I just want to know."

Hesitatingly, the Headmaster repeated the prophesy.

"Pretty vague, eh?" Tim commented.

Professor Snape snorted. "Indeed. You would do well to work hard at school, knowing this. But working hard in school would have been advisable anyway. Other than that, you are a child. We do not expect you to do what Headmaster Potter had to do. We did learn from the mistakes made thirty years ago. We will keep you informed, but we also want you to enjoy your time at Hogwarts."

Tim nodded. "I'll train, anyway. Maybe you are right, Headmaster, and this will never come to pass. Maybe it doesn't even apply to me. There are loads of possibilities. I'll just do my best at Hogwarts."

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A few weeks later, another child with messy black hair stepped through the barrier to Platform 9 ¾ with the Weasleys to begin his first journey to Hogwarts.


End file.
